Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’m dreaming, I think to myself. It’s just one of those dreams, the kind where the least likely thing in the world happens but it all seems strangely normal – like when you wake up in a cold sweat, panicked because you’ve got to give a book report in a class you passed years earlier. It’s not real. It can’t be.
That’s the only explanation. I’m not really down here. I’m still safe and warm in my bed, waiting for just the right moment to spring awake and start another day slinging burgers. Just five more minutes, Mom. That’s all I need.
But there he is, in the flesh – and there I am, next to him.
The last time Hale was here with me, we were wrapped in each other’s arms, hidden away under my bedsheets, safe from the world, just about ready to head out to Willie’s and… well, and everything that followed. It had been a nice moment, a simple moment, and with Hale around simple moments were in short supply. If that had been the last time I’d seen him, I could have lived with that – a final happy memory to focus on instead of his fight and our argument at the trailer and the sight of him driving away into the night. A line could be drawn under it, the ending sad but complete. We were done, Hale and I. Over. Kaput. The second he had got on that bike of his, I had known I wouldn’t be waiting for him.
And yet, like a recurring dream, like a ghost in the night, here he is again.
‘It’s 5am, Hale.’ I lean against the body of Pete’s truck, but he doesn’t join me even though he looks for all the world like he needs the rest. In the dim streetlight, I can see just how tired he looks – tired from the inside out, not just physically but mentally too, as though he’s spent a week or so tossing and turning in restless contemplation. Join the club, I think. The last twenty-four hours feel like they’ve been the longest month of my life.
‘I know.’
‘So why are you here?’ Why are you here at all? Why, when I’d finally made my mind up to leave? Why, when I was just about to move on?
‘I needed to talk to you.’
‘You said plenty before you left.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry for that, I really am – but I’m not done.’
‘At five o’clock in the morning? Really?’
He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t going to, but then I saw your light was on. I figured you were up and getting ready for work, and if I waited…’ What, Hale? If you waited, what? You’d change your mind? You’d get right back on your bike and ride off, again? ‘Should I go?’
‘No,’ I sigh. The whole situation is crazy. If I’d been told a week earlier that I’d ever be in a situation where Hale was the last person I wanted to see, I would have thought they were nuts. I wonder how the cuts beneath his shirt are holding up, and then try to remind myself not to care. Hale has made his choice. So have I. Austin is waiting for me.
That’s right, I tell myself. Just keep that in mind. Austin is waiting for you. Austin is waiting. Austin is waiting. Austin, Austin, Austin. It doesn’t matter that Hale left, because I’m leaving too – if not to Austin, then to Dallas, or to Houston, or to God-knows-where, but I am going. I know that now. I’m going. I have to.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can see something churning inside of him: the tell-tale signs, impossible to ignore. The tight clench of his fist. The furrow in his brow. The way he refuses to keep his ice-blue eyes on mine, scared that they’ll give something away before he’s quite ready.
All the same tricks I came to recognise when we were young.
‘Please,’ I ask. ‘If you came here to say something, spit it out. Just say whatever it is you –’
‘You were right,’ he says. Three little words: short, heartfelt, simple. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed. ‘You were right. About Eden. About me. This is your life, and I had no right to drop in out of nowhere and try and change that. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ I start, ‘I –’ He holds up a hand to stop me.
‘Please. I’m not done. If I stop…’ He pauses, but the meaning is clear: if he stops, he’ll never get started again. Feelings aren’t easy for Hale without a guitar in his hand. I give him a nod, and he continues. ‘You were right about me, too. The whole time I was riding back to New York, I knew I’d made a stupid mistake. I knew it before I even got to Hogarth, but my damn stupid pride wouldn’t let me turn around until it was too late. You knew it before I did. You figured me out, Carrie – about me running away, about me always, always running. Well, I’m tired of running away from things. The only running I want to do is towards you now. Somewhere safe. Somewhere I feel like I belong. I’ve never had that before. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m still not sure I do… but I want to try. More than anything, I want to try. I love you, Carrie. I have since we were kids. I don’t want to spend another ten years without you near me, wherever that is.’
‘Even if that’s in Eden?’
‘If that’s where you are, sure. It’s not Eden, or New York, or anywhere else. It’s you, Carrie. It’s always been you. And I don’t want to lose you again. If that means I spend every spare minute I have travelling back and forth between here and the city, I don’t care.’
‘Anywhere I am?’
‘Wherever you feel like home – because that’s where I feel like home. That’s where I need to be. Not in the city. Not away from my past. Just with you. That’s all.’
Austin is waiting for you. Austin is waiting. Austin, Austin, Austin.
‘This is a whole lot of stuff you’re putting on me, Hale.’
‘I know.’
‘I need a little time. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. I can’t just say yes and ride off into the sunset with you.’
He nods, slowly. ‘But it’s not a no?’
‘It’s not a no.’
‘Then that’s enough. Whatever it takes, Carrie. If I’ve still got a shot after the way everything went down, I’m taking it. No hesitation. If that means spending a while longer in Eden –’
‘Austin,’ I say; the word spills out of me faster than I’d anticipated, catching me by surprise. ‘Well, maybe.’
He raises a quizzical eyebrow, and I tell him everything that’s changed over the last twenty-four hours. My new plans. The life I had started sketching out without him, away from here.
‘And that’s what you want?’ he asks once I’m done. ‘You’re sure.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not even a little bit, if I’m honest with you. It’s a big deal, and even the idea of it is kind of terrifying, but it feels…’ How do I explain it? Then again, I’m talking to Hale: if there’s one person who’ll understand the call of a clean break, it’s him. ‘It feels right, I guess. Like it’s just the next stage. I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to try something new. Maybe that means giving up on my old life, and maybe it doesn’t. I just don’t know yet – but I’m OK with not knowing. For now.’
‘For now,’ he repeats, chewing the words over.
‘And until I do, it wouldn’t be fair for me to say yes – for either of us. Do you understand that?’
‘Yeah, I understand. Whatever makes you happy. That’s all that matters to me.’
‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
He nods and smiles. ‘I really do.’
And perhaps, a week earlier – another life away – that would have been enough for me. Perhaps if he’d told me that the first time he walked into the diner, everything that followed would have played out differently. I might even have been OK with that, if I hadn’t known better – for a while, at least.
But this… this is something new. Something special. I can feel it.
We don’t part immediately: there’s no need for a grand goodbye. It’s enough to just be together for a few minutes longer, sharing each other’s company, waiting for the sun to rise and the time when we both know I need to leave.
He doesn’t try and kiss me, although he could – and I’d let him. When the moment finally comes for me to head off, he squeezes me tight. ‘Good luck,’ he says. ‘I mean that. You can do it.’
I nod. ‘Thank you,’ I say – and I mean it too. Thank you, Hale. Thank you for everything.
It won’t be the last time I’m with him, I know that. It won’t be the last time I feel his arms wrapped around me; the kiss he leaves on my cheek has no air of finality about it. It’s a bookmark, a temporary break in a story that isn’t quite – may never be – finished.
But for now, Austin is waiting for me.
Hale watches from his bike as I settle my bag in the seat next to me, buckle up my belt and prepare myself. Deep breath, Carrie, I tell myself as I rest my fingers on the key. You can do this. No big deal. It’s just the rest of your life, that’s all. One big adventure. One last goodbye.
But it’s time.
I smile as I turn the key and start the truck, but it doesn’t last; as soon as I do, there’s a crack that echoes down the street, loud as a gunshot, and a plume of black smoke pours out of the exhaust pipe behind me.
No, no, no…
Not now. You heap of shit, please not now… Don’t do this to me…
There’s no use in begging. Pete’s truck shudders and whines as I turn the key in the ignition again, but no matter how many times I try the engine refuses to start up. The truck is dead.
And without it, any hopes I had of making it to Austin might as well be dead too.
It’s OK, I tell myself. There are other schools. Hell, even if I don’t go this year, I can always go next year. I mean, what’s another twelve months when you’re already going to be the oldest person in class, right? Right? Ri—?
I cut the thought off with an angry blast from the truck’s horn; at least that still works. I don’t care about the noise now, or the risk of waking someone up. Let them shout out their windows at me. Let them twitch their curtains and complain. I’m past that now. You actually thought it was going to happen, that hateful little voice in my head sneers at me. You actually let yourself get your hopes up that you could get out of here – that you’d be something more than a waitress for the rest of your life. I mean, really, Carrie… how dumb can you get?
The tears come thick and fast, just when I thought I didn’t have any tears left in me to shed. It’s not fair, I scream internally. None of it. Not Hale. Not my Dad. Not this. None of it. IT’S. NOT. FAIR!
But fair never had anything to do with it, not really. If things were fair, I would never have had to wait so long just to lose it at the last minute. What’s fair about that, eh? How could a world possibly exist where that seemed just?
A soft rat-tat-tat of knuckles against glass pulls me back to the real world. ‘Everything OK?’ Hale asks. His face is a mask of concern, of distant worry. I recognise that look from years ago: back then, he would have pulled me close, convinced me everything was going to be fine… but he can’t, now. No matter how much it would help, I’ve asked him not to, and so he’s circling, holding back.
‘Peachy,’ I say, wiping my eyes as best I can so I can pretend just for a second that he didn’t see me bawling like a toddler. ‘Just perfect. Everything’s fine.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yeah. I’m OK. Really.’ I try to give him a smile, but my face doesn’t seem to get the message. ‘See?’
‘Do you need a ride?’ He flashes me a grin, but it doesn’t land; with the smoke still lingering at the back of the truck, it just seems cruel – too cruel, even for him.
‘Don’t joke, Hale,’ I beg. ‘Please. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Who’s joking?’ He points over his shoulder, away from the truck, and it takes me a moment or two to realise what he’s suggesting. If the truck won’t do the job, perhaps his bike will.
‘On that thing?’ I ask.
‘Sure. You’ve got places to be, remember?’
‘I couldn’t. We couldn’t. It’s five hours to Austin.’
‘I can get you there in four.’
‘Hale…’
He steps forwards and takes my hand in his, closing his fingers around my own. I forgot how much I missed the touch of his skin, the warmth that radiates off him when his body is close to mine. ‘Carrie,’ he says. ‘I want to do this for you. With you, if I can. This is important to you – too important to let Pete’s piece of crap truck and a slice of bad luck get in your way. You’ve waited too damn long for this.’
‘I’ve only been planning it for about eight hours. I’ll cope.’
‘Sure, eight hours,’ he says. ‘Eight hours and about ten years. But yes, you’ll cope. You always do. But aren’t you tired of just coping? Don’t you think it’s time to start living instead? Don’t you think it’s time to start going after what you really want?’
Oh, buddy, I think. I really do. More than you could possibly know.
‘It doesn’t matter if that’s me,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t matter if you decide you want to be with me when we get back, or if you don’t. This isn’t conditional. It’s your decision, completely. Just let me do this one thing for you. Please. I owe it to you.’
‘Why? Why would you think you owed me anything?’
He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. ‘For the sandwiches down at the lake,’ he says. ‘And the time you came out to help me at the Stop ‘n’ Shop. And for the other night, after the bar. And for everything else, Carrie. God, just for every damn thing – every act of kindness you gave me over that summer, when I needed it most. But I’m not offering ‘cause I think you need repaying. I’m offering because I love you, Carrie. I love you. And that’s all.’
And there he is, standing with me, holding me so close that I can feel his heart beating in his chest: both Hales at once. The Hale who ran, and the Hale who’s asking to stay. Reckless Hale, and Hale my harbour. Danger and security, passion and safety. All mixed up together, all in one man.
Hop on your stupid bike, I had told him at the trailer as he rode away from me. Run as far and as fast as you can, and hope that sometime in the future you decide you’ve found something worth taking a risk on – because until you do, you’re going to lead a real lonely life.
But despite all of that, he came back. To me. For me. I could go to Austin and it might be the worst decision I’ve ever made; I could fail out of my classes and end up with nothing to do except slink back home to Eden with my tail between my legs. Hale could run at any moment, far and fast and never to be seen again. I’m his risk, and he is mine.
And yet nothing I’ve ever experienced has managed to live up to that. Nothing has ever made me feel safer. No one has ever made me feel more alive.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ he asks, and I shake my head.
‘Just rattling around,’ I say. ‘Nothing important.’
He pulls a map out from the compartment on the back of his bike and hands it to me with a smile – that old Hale Fischer charm that won me over in the first place, at a quiet little spot by a river all those years ago. ‘So… where do we go from here?’ he asks.
Well, I think as I take it from him and we begin to plan our route to my future under a street lamp and the first stirrings of a Texas dawn. Isn’t that just the question?